all the shattered ones
by WickedSong
Summary: He's fifteen and in juvie the day that Phil Coulson shows up and gives him a chance to change the story. AU in which Coulson finds Ward instead of Garrett.
1. Part I

**all the shattered ones,**

**written by wickedsong.**

**Disclaimer/Note: I do not own AoS. Okay, so this is an idea that has been brewing for a while. It basically started with how much I hate John Garrett but actually became this when I thought about how GOOD it would have been if Coulson had found Ward instead of Garrett. I've wanted to write it for a while and then I read this really good fic that had a part with this idea and I was inspired more. A link to the fic can be found on my profile. So I started writing it, intending for it to be a oneshot. Then, it got to 3k and I decided it could be a few parts instead. So maybe three or four? I'm kind of scared to post it (I've been working on it for weeks) so hopefully it's decent enough. Hope you enjoy! (Will eventually be SkyeWard btw)**

* * *

He's fifteen and in juvie the day that the man in the suit comes to visit him.

At first Grant thinks it's his parents' lawyer – a day earlier than he expected him to show up – but then he flashes a badge inconspicuously to the guard leading him by the arm. The guard's doesn't completely let go but Grant is relieved as his grip slackens.

"I've got it covered," the man in the suit says with a contemplative smile in the guard's direction.

The guard gives Grant a once over and then nods, before retreating to another side of the room in order to keep watch.

Once the guard is gone, Grant looks at the man, up and down, wondering who the hell he is. He's taken further aback when the man smiles at him, but he doesn't let his surprise show. The smile is almost welcoming but a little wary. Anyone who's come to see him would have to be wary.

"Grant Ward?" the man asks, extending a hand towards him, and tilting his head slightly.

Grant nods, but refuses to take the man's hand. He doesn't seem to take it as an insult however; only withdraws his hand and then extends it towards the table behind him.

He introduces himself as Phil Coulson as the two take a seat.

Grant decides quickly that he has to look intimidating. He isn't sure how well he pulls this off but he figures that being quiet is probably the best thing. For all he knows this guy is some detective his parents have hired to get a confession out of him.

Not that they really need the confession. There are plenty of people who can vouch for his disappearance at the school they sent him to, plenty of people who would have seen him driving the stolen car miles home, only so he could set it alight.

The one thing they don't know is if he knew his older brother was inside.

Of course he did.

The man, Coulson, studies him carefully. Maybe he's trying to size him up. If he's a cop then Grant's not stupid enough to think he can take him in a fight and somehow be in a better position than before. That's not to say he isn't stupid enough to _try_.

"So I guess you're wondering who I am," Coulson begins, "and what I'm doing here."

Grant remains silent.

This only seems to encourage the man seated across from him. He places his clasped hands on the table in front of him, and leans forward. "One of my colleagues," he picks that word too carefully, "got word from an old friend of his, the quartermaster at your military school. He said that you were a promising cadet, but that you went AWOL a couple of weeks ago to go back home."

He leans back now, as if passing the conversation over. Grant doesn't know what to say. So he simply refuses to say anything at all.

"I'm not here to give you into trouble. I'm not here to give you a lecture or try to get a confession out of you." Coulson sighs. "I work for an organisation interested in giving young recruits like you a chance."

"Recruits like _me_?"

How his parents would laugh at someone being interested in him. What does he have that this man would find useful anyway? But there's an interest that's been piqued within him, and Coulson obviously notes it too.

Grant tries to downplay it; tries to pretend he doesn't like the idea of something beyond these four walls. He's been good at not deluding himself into thinking that there was something better.

"Your parents are setting charges against you, you know? Arson and attempted murder. Your older brother is petitioning the courts to have you tried as an adult as well."

His throat clenches painfully at that. That would mean God knows how many years in a jail cell. And his brother, still alive, still taunting him from the comfort of a charred home he made into Grant's own personal hell.

"I'm not saying this to scare you, Grant."

He keeps calling him Grant. Keeps trying to make some sort of connection, and there's a part of him that finds it warm and familial and _nice_.

"Your actions, regardless of where they came from, have consequences." The man straightens up, adjusting his suit jacket and tie in the process. "But from this moment, you have a choice. If you choose to come with me then you'll be able to learn how to protect yourself and others. You have potential, and it could be used for good."

Grant looks at his hands. All they've ever been _good_ for was beating up his younger brother while Maynard watched in sick delight. All they've ever done is bruise and he can't imagine a world where they help instead.

After a long moment he finally looks up at the man, who's still looking at him with an intense curiosity. It's like he knows that he doesn't feel as if he's all that good and wants to prove him wrong somehow. "Why should I trust you?"

Coulson looks like he's trying to think of a reason and then smiles. "Because you don't want to be defined by this," Coulson starts, looking around the room. "You don't want to be defined by your past and what you could have been and what you could have done if it hadn't been for the hand you'd been dealt." He holds his hands up, almost in surrender. "But you can change the story here, Grant." He looks at him, carefully. "I have business in the area, and I'll be back tomorrow. Think it over."

Coulson smiles at him once more and stands, and Grant does so too. This time when the older man holds his hand out, Grant hesitates but takes it, while something that strangely resembles hope brews in his chest.

He's whisked back to his cell, where he forgoes sleep, staring at the dark grey ceiling, as if that would somehow make the choice for him.

* * *

The first thing Coulson does is send him to sessions with a therapist. At first he's finds it to be a waste of time; time he could be using to become better; bigger and stronger, and therefore more capable. And as the sessions continue he becomes more uncomfortable with the probing nature of the questions given to him. All he wants to do is leave it behind him; in the past where it belongs, but that's what the therapist always wants to talk about.

Not that she's a horrible woman; in her mid-thirties, very pretty – and she tries to make him feel as comfortable as possible, but there's always a chill in his spine, that always comes back to a fateful day beside a well. That's as far as he sometimes gets before he can't speak anymore.

It was where the hate came from wasn't it? That nasty ache in the pit of his stomach that he could never find the courage to rid himself of. The hate that had fuelled a cross country car ride that ended in the place he had spent his childhood rising in flames as he watched. And he had watched with a morbid satisfaction that he didn't like; that he didn't want to understand.

"Maybe I can't be fixed?" he suggests to Coulson one day quietly, as they work out and the topic of his therapy comes up. He stays with Coulson, who trains him in between secret missions and meetings with the higher ups of SHIELD. "Maybe you can't save someone from themselves, sir."

Coulson stops him from hitting the punching bag and adjusts the wraps on his hand carefully. "You can if you get to them early enough." There's so much strength and conviction in Coulson's voice that Grant really wants that to be true.

He learns, eventually, that maybe it is.

It's not a lesson he learns overnight but over time.

It's when he finds out that his sister has a scholarship to an art school; that she's going to be able to get out of the hell that was their home and do something with her talent, that he realises he's had the same opportunity the entire time. Coulson had tried; had pulled strings at every level, in order to get her out of the house; to protect her the way he couldn't protect his younger brother, but it hadn't been enough. His mom and dad had fought at every turn, had claimed normalcy, had said Grant himself was the problem and now that he was gone it was fine.

No one else had argued, no one else _knew_, and his record spoke for itself. All Coulson could promise was a close eye on the situation and Grant had to pretend that was enough. So when he hears that his sister is going to New York for her art school; that she's going to make something for herself, he's so damn proud and he almost manages to forget it all.

The moment by the well, when he was too late to throw the rope, still defines him, still drives him. But eventually it's in a different way. It encourages him to forget the hatred – or at least as much of it as he can (he'll never be completely healed; but he can try to live with it now and he thinks that's important too) – and forge it into something useful. When he's eighteen, he tries to remember how he felt when he thought he was avenging his younger brother and is glad to find that satisfaction that weighed on his chest is gone.

He meets Agent John Garrett on his first day at SHIELD's Operations Academy, twenty-one and excited at the possibilities.

"And then this son of a gun here," Garrett says, with a laugh, as he playfully nudges Coulson, who had insisted on sending him off in between another set of missions, and another set of meetings, "decides to go and get you all for himself."

Grant is grateful to come face to face with the man who originally found out and told Coulson about him. He shakes his hand, and Garrett shakes back heartily.

"I heard you're one heck of a shot too. Hand-eye coordination off the charts, ain't that right Phil?"

Coulson gives a roll of his eyes but smiles at his friend. "Yes, John, that's what you told me." He looks over at Grant, and says it as if they've had this conversation a million times before. "But he's a lot more than a good shot. Has a knack for languages, a talent for stealth. Could be one of the best, I think.

Grant bows his head to stop the smile playing on his lips. Coulson thinks he's good, with the potential to be one of the best. He won't ever stop trying to prove that.

* * *

Coulson's not been as present as he was when he first found him years ago, giving him space and time to work on who he wants to be and how he wants to get there. He understands when Coulson let go but it was still scary – it was still making him responsible for things he wasn't sure he could be yet. But as a close confidant of Director Fury, he's a busy man and Grant takes the challenge and likes to believe he rose to it.

But the first time he flunks an assignment, badly – due to the sheer stress of it all – he's sure he's going to be kicked out of the Academy he had spent so much time trying to get into. He paces his dorm nervously, waiting for Coulson to come and tell him to pack up and find something else to do with his life. He isn't sure he could do that – not now. He could always find his sister in New York but he hasn't seen her in years either. He hasn't even spoken to her since the night he fled military school and told her to make sure she was out of the house. He panics, but when Coulson taps on his door hours later, he finds that his fears are unfounded.

There was no great consequence to come with failure. It was just something to work on, something to aspire to. Coulson doesn't see it as the kid he liberated from juvie six years ago being a mistake or liability. He doesn't tell him it was a waste of his time and he wonders how he can look at it like that.

"Hell, the amount of times Fury threatened to send me out on my ass if I screwed up _one more time_."

Grant gives a small laugh at this.

Coulson assures him that he's good but it doesn't send all his insecurities to the back of his mind. He wishes he wasn't still that scared kid getting told that his parents were setting charges and that his brother wanted him to be tried as an adult – but in some ways he still is and he's still working on that too.

But it eases them – traps them in a place where they're sometimes obscured – and that's good enough for now.

* * *

He does well at the Academy - he excels. It's competitive and his classmates sometimes put it down to the fact that Coulson was his mentor – implying that he gets some sort of preferential treatment from it. It makes him doubt but it also makes him work harder. He doesn't make many friends this way, and it's something that Coulson tries to encourage him to do. But whenever he tries to be sociable he either ends up saying the wrong thing or not knowing what to say at all and it all ends embarrassingly anyway.

Once he graduates he rises quickly through the ranks of SHIELD itself. He can work with other Agents but he prefers not and becomes known as somewhat of a lone wolf throughout the organisation. He's the man you send in when you want something done quietly and discreetly. Fresh out of the Academy, John Garrett approaches him once more, with an offer to work alongside him but he turns it down, preferring to keep his own company.

He's just been extracted early from a mission in Moscow when he finds out about The Battle of New York – and the cost that came with it.

Phil Coulson is pronounced dead and it's with a heavy heart that Grant finds himself beside his grave on the day of his funeral. A light drizzle pours down and he promises that he'll make this man proud – that he'll become someone that Coulson looks down upon with a smile on his face. He doesn't believe in God – or in Heaven – he never could after all was said and done – but a part of likes to pretend he does. It's a safety and a sanctuary.

It's pulled from him months later when Coulson emerges from the shadows of Maria Hill's field office, obviously alive and well.

He makes a joke about a light bulb being out in the corner and Grant just gapes at him, a ghost in front of his eyes. He wonders how he can make a joke when for months he's been _dead. _

"Sir?" He asks Coulson. When he only gives him a grin in return, he turns to look at Commander Hill, who gives a reluctant smirk in their direction.

"I'm putting together a team, Grant," Coulson tells him, "and I thought you'd be the perfect specialist for it."

* * *

The years hadn't completely changed his stance on people – at least not to the extent that he felt comfortable with the idea of a team.

"Sir, you know I'm not-"

"This will be good for you," assures Coulson, with a smile. "I know that you've grown used to being able to do it all on your own but…" He trails off, unsure how to phrase what Grant already knows he means.

He doesn't bring it up again. At least not until they get on the BUS – actually a SHIELD-plane and Coulson is trying to tell him a joke while he keeps his mind trained on the scientists he just met downstairs. He knows of FitzSimmons – incredibly bright individually and even better together – and a pair who failed their field assessments.

The last thing Grant needs is to be watching their backs – and then he comes face to face with The Calvary herself – Melinda May. He knows May, she and Coulson are good friends, and he's met her a few times. He's always been a bit intimidated. He knows that something happened, years ago, which caused her to leave the field, but he's never thought it to be his business, or his place to ask Coulson.

"Wheels up in five," she says, with a smile in Coulson's direction, one which he returns. She then looks over at him, nods as if to herself, and heads back in the direction of the cockpit.

_Melinda May_ as the pilot?

"What kind of operation are you running here, sir?"

He means it with the utmost respect that the man in front of him has always commanded from him. But he also knows Coulson. He knows himself. He just doesn't understand what his, the best way he can describe it is anti-social stance, coupled with a pair of scientists who failed their field assessments and a SHIELD legend who worked herself into administration, could give him.

Maybe Coulson understands it better because he just walks away with a smile on his face that says he'll understand someday.


	2. Part II

**all the shattered ones,**

**written by wickedsong.**

**Disclaimer/Note: In the first chapter. So the response to the first chapter of this has been amazing. I'm so glad that people enjoyed it, and really responded to it. I just want to say thank you for all the lovely words for the first part and I hope you enjoy this next part as well. There'll probably be one - two, at a push - more after this.**

* * *

Skye rocks onto the plane - and his life - like a hurricane and at first he can't stand her. Coulson, as if he can see through everything he is, only gives that same placating smile when Grant brings up his fears about allowing her on the team.

Sure, she was a valuable asset in finding Mike Peterson – he still believes SHIELD could have handled that on their own – but she's also a member of The Rising Tide. There's no love lost between him and the hacker group and it's impossible to know where her loyalties truly lie.

"Is she getting under your skin?" Coulson finally asks, as he, May and Grant stand around the holotable discussing the pros and cons of letting the hacker onto the team.

May backs him at first and Grant stands up straighter in his stance, glad he doesn't have to answer Coulson's question and knowing smile. He shares a mutual understanding with May – both being specialists on the team, even if May no longer does field work. "You have two kids on this bus who aren't cleared for combat," she points out, with a cool voice of logic and precision. A voice that Coulson might actually listen to on this one, "and yet you want to add a third?"

She's a risk, Grant wants to say. She's a variable, and if there's one thing he's been trained to do from day one it's to evaluate the risk that a variable may pose. He already feels like he has to protect FitzSimmons from the field; as much as he wants to pretend that it's not his responsibility, he's already taken it upon himself.

"She's not qualified to be a SHIELD agent, sir," he says instead, the first thing he can think of that might sway Coulson.

Coulson places the tablet he's been looking over – heading to their next destination, investigating an 0-8-4 in Peru – on the table, and folds his arms. "She wouldn't be a SHIELD agent. She'd be a consultant, like Stark." Grant almost rolls his eyes; he's not particularly fond of Stark either in the few instances they've met. "Besides" he looks towards May this time, "I've already weighed up any objections either of you might have."

Grant sees May roll her eyes and leave the room, giving up the fight and putting her trust in Coulson. He's about to follow suit himself; protesting anymore won't work, when Coulson calls him back.

He looks down at the tablet but puts it aside and looks up at him. "I know this team thing isn't really what you're used to."

It really isn't. He's used to being a one man army; able to do what many could do together, by himself. It's how he's always operated; the only difference is that now he knows he's doing some good with it. He can see the disappointment in Coulson's eyes though. Working with others is the one lesson he was never able to quite learn the whole way.

"I thought I was here to make the hard call, sir," Grant says, unable to quite meet the look in his eyes. "To evaluate threats and to-"

"And you're good at that, Grant," Coulson interrupts. "I'm proud to say that I was a part of the Agent you are today." A pause. "But you still shut people out. And _that's_ why I brought you onto this team. You say you've moved on from your past, from your family and what happened, but I don't think you ever fully can." Coulson looks down and gives a sad smile. "I've learned recently that some scars are with us forever, and we have to live and learn from them."

"Is that what this team is about for you?"

He's noticed it; in the small ways; the things that distinguish Coulson from before and after the Battle of New York and the price he paid. Whether he was dead for eight or forty seconds – he changed when Loki's scepter went through his chest - even if it's not completely clear at first glance.

He wonders whether he's crossed a line he shouldn't have when Coulson shrugs. "Maybe I'm trying to figure it out," he muses. After a beat there's a smile. "Or it could just be that this is a really nice plane."

* * *

He offers to become Skye's S.O. when her quick thinking means he doesn't fall from the side of the plane at 30,000 feet. It's May who points out her potential, as they take note of what does and doesn't need to be repaired on the plane following the retrieval of the 0-8-4 and the brief takeover.

"She'll need an S.O." The older woman muses. She smiles at Grant. "Someone disciplined, good, smart." She shakes her head ever so slightly, but Grant contemplates it and accepts.

"I'll do it."

May smiles as she continues to take stock of what they still have on the plane.

"You _did_ mean me?"

He doesn't know why but she's always liked messing with him.

It's by the end of their first week of training that he begins to regret his decision. He has a sort of begrudging respect for Skye now, but the rest of the team have welcomed her like she was meant to be there from the beginning and he can't see it. She's undisciplined, lazy and doesn't seem to really _want_ it. She doesn't really seem to understand.

He knows what it's like to want it. He knows what it's like to need it. Everything he is now was carefully constructed, carefully built, to be the antithesis of everything that scared fifteen year old boy was. He wonders, sometimes, if Coulson hadn't given that chance, how different he would have been.

"Earth to robot, you there?"

She's taken a break from punching the bag and he's suddenly alert and at attention. "I thought I told you-"

"It's my first week," she complains, with the small hint of a smirk as she gives the bag a small, lazy punch. "I've been at this for a while now now and my arms feel as if they're about to fall off." As if to emphasise her point she pretends to droop down, her arms falling flatly at her side.

He rolls his eyes at her in response. They haven't been training for _that_ long.

"And there it is," she says, almost triumphantly. When he looks at her, confused, she shrugs. "I was wondering how long it would take you to roll your eyes at me today. You almost made it past your previous record of half an hour, you know?"

"It's about effort, practice," he tells her, ignoring her comment, and holding his hand out so she'll let him adjust the wraps on her hands. Once he's done so, he assumes his stance beside the bag. He takes one shot, then another, and adds a third, before turning to her. "There's got to be a moment where either you want this and commit or run away." He pauses, and tries to be funny. "Your arms are _meant_ to feel like they've fallen off."

"Well I'm sorry we're not all built like you. What are you anyway - a Terminator or something?"

He wonders how many nicknames for him she has up her sleeve. He almost responds too but before he can there's a mission briefing and somewhere between investigating the mysterious disappearance of Franklin Hall and trying to devise some way to sneak into Ian Quinn's compound, any retort he could give is lost.

She decides that she's the best for the job, securing an invite from her phone, and for a fleeting moment he wonders how she managed to commit to computer science for so long and yet is unable to find the same sort of will with her training.

He realises he doesn't just tolerate Skye when he and Coulson finally find their way past the security measures put in place around the compound. They split up; Coulson to find Hall and Grant to find Skye.

He finds her, fearful but fighting, surrounded by Quinn's guards and from there it's instinct. He counts five of them, and they're easy enough to take down on his own, and he feels this weightless feeling in his chest when she runs to him, grabbing his vest and looking at him with panicked eyes.

It's later, once they're back on the BUS and the gravitonium is safely underneath the Fridge, where no one should be able to find it, he finds her furiously punching the bag down in the cargo bay.

She sees him first, as he walks down the stairs and smiles at him. That weightless feeling returns and he's slightly taken aback by it, but pushes through anyway, returning the smile.

"It's good," she says, before taking a drink of her water, and then checking her hands. "My arms feel like they're about to fall off so that's good."

He nods. She stops for a moment, as if she's waiting for him to say something back.

He clears his throat. "You did well today," is about all he can manage.

"Thanks Ward," she replies, and then with a small shake of her head. "And thanks for saving my ass back there. I…I should have-"

He shakes his head too. "It's nothing."

Awkward and weird, that's how it feels, like the first time he ever tried talking to the girl who sat in front of him in the fourth grade.

"I've been thinking about what you said earlier, about the moment I'd either want this or run away." She's not looking at him anymore, but at the punching bag instead. "And I want this."

_And you can do it_, he thinks, but he doesn't say. He doesn't know why, but there's some force stopping him. "We won't turn our backs," he tells her instead and he means it. Because he can see a kind of sadness behind her eyes, like she's been told this before, and he feels sad for her. He doesn't want to pry, doesn't want to open up the past because he knows how much that can hurt too. Rather than ask about he simply walks over to the bag and takes it, and they work like that in relative silence.

* * *

In the small ways he begins to open up to these people more than he has to anyone, except Coulson, in his life. The closest he came to a friend at the Academy was Antoine Triplett, a specialist like himself, but he had always kept him at an arm's length too. Trip always seemed okay with that though, almost like he somewhat understood that it wasn't personal.

He's a good guy. He'd have to find out where he is now.

He finds himself sitting around the lab with FitzSimmons while they argue over the pros and cons of his name for the Night Night Gun. More often than not, Grant decides to side with Simmons. She reminds him of his sister; determined, focused, making her exceedingly good at what she does. He thinks, in the brief times he spoken to his sister throughout the years, the glimpses he's had into her life, they'd be friends.

"See, even Ward agrees with me."

Fitz, on the other hand, is everything he imagines his little brother might've been. Maybe it's just because Fitz is a few years younger and has that excitable energy as he explores invention upon invention. Maybe it's the strange likeness to a puppy. Whatever it is, whenever Ward agrees with Simmons about the Night Night Gun, Fitz will shake his head and refuse to listen.

"He just doesn't understand it yet, Simmons."

When he's leaving them to their back and forth – mostly when they're working on some sort of joint project and using words he can't understand – and not training Skye, he'll sometimes spar with May. He still remembers the first time he met her – the woman known as the Calvary. She'd always been reserved in the time he'd known her – she was one of Coulson's closest friends – but she's still one of the most skilled agents SHIELD has ever had. He still remembers one of the first times he met her – and while she had been out of the field at the time she and Coulson still sometimes worked out together.

She's good – one of the best – and she hands his ass back to him at the end of a fight - like she used to with Coulson all those years ago. Grant only gives a half smirk, shrugs his shoulders and asks for best out of three, before she shakes her head and walks away.

But it's Skye who gets through to him the most and that's what terrifies him. She wasn't even meant to be on the team in the first place, yet she walked in like she was on the roster from the very beginning.

The first time he even mentions his family to her is offhand and over a game of Battleship. He doesn't even realise it at first, how comfortable he's become, and the minute the words are out he wishes he could retract them. She just looks at him, with those big brown eyes, as she takes another pretzel, before correctly guessing another coordinate. Ward curses, as he realises she's one away from sinking his ship completely.

"So it's your brother's favourite too?"

"Yeah it was," he replies. "I'd love to say he was able to kick my ass at it too but-"

He almost smiles when he remembers those days. The quiet hours when Maynard would be out with some of the kids in the neighbourhood, their dad would be at the bar down the road when he said he was work while their mother would be out trying to keep up appearances; trying to convince everyone – including herself – that everything was alright.

It was in these times when Grant would set up the game, and he, his brother and sister would sit for hours having turns at it. She didn't like it very much, he remembers – and she never got the rules quite right – but it'd be peaceful and for those few hours they could all pretend that it was always like that. That they were always that normal and functional.

When he looks over at Skye, she seems to have realised that she's hit some sort of nerve. For a moment she looks as if she's going to apologise, but she doesn't – and he's grateful, so grateful. Instead she says C5 and sinks his battleship. Her laugh is infectious and he finds himself smiling at it; smiling at her, memories of a time long gone for a moment.

"Never would have pegged an ex-Rising Tide hacker as an expert at Battleship," he says, "or a good fit for SHIELD, but I have to say you're picking things up well."

"A compliment from the T-100?" she says, and then gasps, in mock shock. There's another short burst of laughter from her, which provokes another smile from him. He'd never admit it but he's kind of fond of the nicknames she gives him now. "A compliment _and_ a smile?"

"A _comment_," he tries to clarify, but she tilts her head, and smiles, and when he smiles back, feeling kind of foolish but also kind of content, he suggests a rematch, and she declares she's going to kick his ass again, while he sits back, just taking the moment in.

* * *

Maybe that's why it hurts so much when she sits in the interrogation room with the guy Grant can only assume is her boyfriend. He tells himself that everyone else feels it – that everyone else feels stupid for being so taken in – so blind. But he blames himself for it – blames himself for every smile he ever sent her way or for every time he-

He stops his train of thought there. He's an agent; not some jealous teenager and he has to compartmentalise now, do his job, and shut off his emotions as best as he can.

Coulson talks to him about it, once it's all done. They couldn't save Chan Ho Yin from what Centipede – it comes back to Centipede a lot these days – did to him, but they managed to wipe the files and destroy most of the data that was in the building, Miles wanders the streets of Hong Kong and Skye with a SHIELD-administered bracelet around her wrist, exits Coulson's office with tears in her eyes, straight to her bunk with her head down.

He tries to compartmentalise again – tries to tell himself that he shouldn't feel sorry for her but it gnaws at him. He decides to drink it away, however, rather than face whatever it is head on.

Coulson sits by the bar with him in silence, nursing his own drink in hand. He tells him Skye will be staying on the plane and he expects him to continue training her. Grant tells him that won't be a problem.

But since Coulson sat in front of him in a dingy mess hall in a juvenile detention centre, he's seen him better than most.

When he remembers that, he understands Skye a little more – or at least more than he _thought_ he did.

"What do you want me to do, sir?" he asks, after a long silence passes between them. He settles his glass down on the bar's surface and looks at the man who's like a father to him. But he gives him no answers; leaves him to figure it out for himself. Because that's one of the best lessons Coulson ever taught him.

He leaves the half-finished scotch on the bar and finds the courage to tap on the door to Skye's bunk. At first there's no answer and he feels stupid for even trying. But eventually, he hears a shuffle and she's standing there, puffy eyes that strike fiercely into his and ask '_what do you want_?'

That night they sit in the lounge and they talk. He doesn't tell her everything – but gives her glimpses – a house in Massachusetts, the dog they had that died when he was three years old, summers at his grandmother's house, how he doesn't remember his mother and father ever being good, how he doesn't care too either. He leaves his brothers out but tells her about his sister – about the pictures she used to draw because that was her way to lessen the pain a little. They helped ease him a little too.

She doesn't ask him more than he wants to give – and she returns the gesture. She tells him about an orphanage, about a little girl named Mary Sue, about foster families and the Brodys, in particular.

"I called her 'mom' once," she recalls, with this far away distant look in her eye. She averts her gaze from his. "It just wasn't a good fit, I guess."

She doesn't go into her past with Miles and he's glad, but he tells her about Coulson, how he found him, fixed him up, made him believe in good again. They dance around these things; he doesn't tell her he was found in juvie, he doesn't tell her _why_ he was in juvie (she'll look at him differently, he knows it), and the story about how she found her van is vague at best.

The night ends with Skye saying she's beat. She still has puffy eyes, but she smiles through them, and he smiles back.

He doesn't sleep that night, instead looks at the ceiling tiles, until he's 100% sure he's counted them a million times over. He wonders if this is what Coulson has always meant; about letting go and letting someone in, and he's not sure whether he likes it or not.


	3. Part III

**all the shattered ones,**

**written by wickedsong.**

**Disclaimer/Note: In the first chapter. Yeah, so this took me a little bit longer than I wanted it to. I just got stuck about midway through and trying to find words is the hardest thing. Once I got to the end parts it came to me a little easier but I don't know if I like it that much. I guess you guys will be the judges. Anyway, the next part will be the last one, so enjoy!**

* * *

There's a glimpse into the life she told him about when the BUS touches down near the orphanage that Skye grew up in. She tells him first, casually during training, acting like she really doesn't give a damn. She shrugs, makes a few jokes, and lets it roll off her back. When he asks if she wants to go visit, she gets a look in her eye and jabs the bag harder.

He takes that as a no.

Something must change her mind though because a few hours before the plane lands on the private airstrip she announces it to the team. Coulson, looking as if he knows, just smiles fondly, and tells them all that they'll have free time while the plane is restocked and refuelled.

FitzSimmons are eager as ever to see the place where Skye grew up, and even May smiles a little at Grant's surprise that she will also be participating in the visit too. Coulson insists it will be a good bonding activity for the team.

Grant knows how sentimental Coulson can be.

"So, you want to come too?" she asks him, specifically, once everyone else has left the lounge. Her arms are folded but her eyes are downcast, very interested in the floor beneath her feet. "I mean, I know it's kind of stupid but I just thought-"

"I'd love to," he admits.

She looks up at him and he's smiling at her. She throws one his way. "You okay, Robot?"

"Don't push it, Rookie."

The nuns of St. Agnes welcome Skye with a vibrant enthusiasm that, later, she'll tell him she doesn't remember ever receiving when she was younger. When they ask if she's still getting into trouble, he notices the small way she bows her head as a smirk works its way onto her face. As if she's trying to say yes and no at the same time.

They're like a family, Grant muses, feeling foolish but happy at the thought, as he watches the team around him. Coulson and May speak with the nuns while Skye and FitzSimmons amuse some of the children who've crowded around them, obviously interested in the new faces. He almost feels like a spare part, not sure where he fits or where he belongs but happy enough to be there at least.

He's about to join Skye and FitzSimmons when he notices, from the corner of his eye, a little girl, who couldn't be older than five or six, sitting alone. A picture book sits on her lap but her eyes keep darting over to where all the other children sit. Maybe she likes to be alone or maybe she just doesn't know how to not be alone. Nevertheless, Grant feels an odd pull, and goes to sit by her instead.

The little girl looks kind of scared of him at first, but when Grant asks what she's reading – he recognises the book instantly as one of the favourites Gramsy used to read to him as a kid – her face lights up. She tells him all about the story until one of the other girls who'd been listening intently to FitzSimmons comes over and asks her to play.

Grant is left holding the picture book, but smiles. When he looks over, he finds Skye smiling fondly at him too.

Happiness crushes down on his chest and it's the moment he decides he doesn't completely hate this team thing.

* * *

The team slowly come together again – the visit to the orphanage encouraging Skye's continuing quest for forgiveness.

"If you tell me you're sorry one more time, I might _not_ forgive you," he overhears Simmons telling her one day, while Fitz gives a hearty laugh in agreement.

Happiness can only last for so long, however, before something comes along and breaks the dizzying spell. They get along for the next few weeks, plodding through case after case. The Battle of New York left more behind that anyone could have anticipated while the Centipede organisation continue to crop up, time after time, leaving more questions than answers behind in their wake.

The team get a glimpse into _his_ past the day he comes into contact with the Berserker Staff. The moment his hand touches it, trying to stop the professor from escaping, he sees a burning well – _that makes no sense, the well wasn't on fire._ There's a plea for help from far below, but throwing the rope doesn't help – nothing helps – because the smoke is filling up his lungs and chest and it's everything he ever wanted but it's wrong and he shouldn't-

_I'm sorry, I'm so sorry._

When he comes to, he's scared and unsure, disorientated and angry, still in the catacombs, where they'd been searching for the staff. Skye is there too, hovering over him, kneeling at his level – _when did he fall to the ground?_

"Calm down, Grant, calm down."

"_Help me, Grant, help me!"_

The panic subsides once they get back on the BUS and is replaced, instead, by a latent sense of anger. Simmons pokes at him, trying to figure out what the staff did to him, while Fitz whizzes by him, helping her out. Skye tells him that he wasn't acting _right_, that there was something _wrong_. He knows she doesn't mean it the way it sounds – she cares - but he aches and he doesn't understand and everything he put behind him is just another obstacle again.

So he snaps. He shouts at them, that they don't understand, raves that all they're doing is talking and prodding, and not doing _anything_ at all. He tells them that it feels like they never shut up. He directs that last one at Skye, and _knows_ how much he'll regret it when she recoils back from him. Before he can shout more, Coulson comes into the lab.

"I think we should have a talk," is all the older man says, sternly, and Grant nods, shrugging Coulson's hand off his arm, and leaving the lab.

* * *

He calms down considerably in the silent walk between the lab and Coulson's office. May is taking care of the interrogation for now and, for a fleeting moment as they pass by the room, Grant wants to burst in, use this adrenaline high to get some answers from the professor himself.

He sits in the chair opposite Coulson's and takes a few deep breaths. Finally he looks up at him, squares his jaw and leans forward. "This was a mistake," he tells him. "I'm a liability to this team, sir. You saw the way I-" He cares and he hurt them and that's why he doesn't like getting attached in the first place.

"Lost control?" Coulson asks, also sitting down. His office on this plane is small and cosy and nice. It's a world away from the place they first met – but the same in so many ways. Maybe he really can't leave the past behind.

"I went off at them. I don't trust myself with whatever this," he looks at his hands, feeling the rage and power swirling together, making something ugly and dark, "is, whatever the staff did to me."

"You can fight it, Grant," Coulson assures him. "You can fight it just like you've fought everything else."

"You're a fighter." It's May, standing at the door, arms folded and her face impassive. She nods to Coulson. "The professor wants to talk to you."

Coulson looks between Grant and May, but gives her a quick nod back, exiting his office. There's silence for a moment - Grant expects May to leave but instead she sits across from him on the seat Coulson just vacated.

"We're specialists," she begins. "We have to compartmentalise, do what needs to be done. The hard call." She pauses. "But it does come at a price. Every hard decision is like something clawing at your soul."

She understands. He can only guess that it's that kind of darkness that led to her leaving the field completely.

"But you can't let it consume you, Ward," she tells him, forcefully. "From what Coulson's told me, you never let it before." She stands. "If you do now, it'll destroy you."

With those quiet words – he wonders if they were even completely meant for him - and the barest hint of a smile, she leaves. It's her way of helping and he appreciates it.

* * *

They find the last part of the staff in a church in Ireland; led by the professor who's revealed to be the Asgardian who initially wielded it. He's the one to tell him that the feelings in the pit of his chest – the ones that he can barely suppress – might never leave him.

It's that anger he takes on again – in the church. The group who've been searching for the staff are like him – powered up by the hate that it's given them – and he doesn't want anyone else to have to carry that. It already burns inside his veins, he decides as he pulls the staff out of the Asgardian's chest and lunges at one of the men, what's some more?

When it ends, midst a haze of memories and screams and shouts, he's in the middle of a church that looks as if it's been torn apart. Skye's there, _again_, throwing his arm around her and holding him up. He lets her, surveying the damage he's left behind.

When another one – hopefully the last – of the group bursts through the church doors – she pulls him back, as May grabs his wrist to stop him from touching the staff. Doesn't she understand what it'll do, what it'll pull out of her?

"Let me help," is all she says, and he's too weak to argue as May lifts the staff and Skye pulls him to the side, almost stumbling over but catching herself at the last minute. They watch as the fight between May and the other woman unfolds – May emerging victorious, piecing the three pieces together.

When she looks over at them, a silent strength in her eyes, he wonders if that's what she meant in Coulson's office.

* * *

Skye finds him by the bar of the hotel they're staying at for the night. He hadn't even been drinking much; just swirling the glass around, while contemplating the events that had unfolded during the day; trying to find any way to put it aside, to forget.

When she smiles at him, he thinks that's a good start.

His tells himself to compartmentalise, to not get attached. He's kevlar and she's not and he's too messed up to think she'd ever look twice anyway.

She tries to make idle chit-chat; tells him that if he ever needs to talk her shoulder's free. All the while there's a question hidden behind her eyes; _what did you see, what did you feel?_

If she's smart –he knows she is – she probably knows already that it has to do with his past, his family.

The bar is deserted – apart from a few people milling about here and there but he still leans in. "You-I-what I saw," it shouldn't be this hard to just share information, "was about my brother. My younger brother," he clarifies.

He remembers that he never told her he had two brothers. It's something he'd like to forget sometimes too.

"My older brother – he used to – used to beat us up." Not the entire truth. Not yet. "For nothing. For taking a piece of his birthday cake." He pauses. "And things – things got rough for a while." He flexes his fingers, feel the staff's effects still bubbling below the surface. But it calms him when she's here. Nothing bad could ever happen when she's here.

She reaches her hand over, placing it on his arm, reassuringly, and suddenly he knows he's in too deep now no matter what he wanted.

"I promise you're not as broken as you think you are, Ward."

* * *

He thinks about those words a lot as they grow closer. He thinks about them when she smiles at him over a game of Battleship or Scrabble. He thinks about them the first day she manages to best him during training; catching him off-guard and pinning him to the ground and he feels that pride swelling in his chest. The time they almost kiss; almost break the barrier they've been dancing around, over a drink following a mission where a bullet misses him by an inch and he realises how lucky he is to still be alive – that he wouldn't be if she hadn't tackled him out of the way.

They start to fade out; maybe he starts to see himself as whole and young and full of life. But it's not for long. They slam into him, startlingly clear, when _she's_ the broken one with two bullet wounds in her stomach.

She's fighting for her life in a med pod – hooked up to a bunch of machines that are breathing for her, filtering her blood – because he failed to protect her. He's never felt so useless.

The corridor is empty as he peers through the glass, leaning his arm against the glass; as if his staring will wake her up.

He knows her. He knows she can fight it.

Ian Quinn sits in their interrogation room; with a bloody face courtesy of May. Grant knows it took every fibre of self-control he had not to join in.

Someone sidles up beside him. It's John Garrett. He and Trip had been dispatched by SHIELD to pick up Quinn. The older man places a hand on his shoulder tentatively and Grant is too absorbed in his own world to really care.

"It's a damn shame," Garrett says quietly. He retracts his hand and stands, arms folded, staring into the room. "Phil tells me you were her S.O."

Is it an accusation? Or is his mind just playing tricks on him from lack of sleep?

"I _am_," he replies. 'Were' implies there's nothing more to do; 'am' gives him hope that she'll open her eyes.

"Come on, kid." Garrett tries to shepherd him away, but he doesn't budge. "Phil tells me we're on route to the place he was treated. We might find something to help her there."

Grant knows the truth about that too now, Coulson telling him about his death and what Tahiti was really a cover for.

He leaves the corridor, reluctantly so. While gearing up for the mission he passes Trip, who can sense his reluctance to leave.

"She'll be fine, Ward," Trip tells him, with a hand on his shoulder. "And I'm still expecting that tour of this plane."

Grant smirks, grateful at Trip trying to lift the mood. He's always been good at that. He wonders when it will be truly over though. Skye was shot because of the Clairvoyant; whoever or whatever that is. The same Clairvoyant who had Coulson kidnapped and tortured for information about Tahiti.

He feels another hand on his shoulder as he loads his weapon. Turning he finds it's Coulson. "Are you here?"

He knows his feelings for the team, his feelings for Skye, in particular, haven't gone unnoticed, and Coulson is worrying now. He worries that his feelings will compromise him.

If there's one thing he's always been good at it it's compartmentalising.

He gulps down the 'no' that sticks at the back of his throat, and nods instead.

* * *

He's there when she wakes up. Not in the room, but watching, again from a safe distance. Simmons is doing a check on her vitals – it's been days since they got the 'miracle drug' to her – when he sees the biochemist stand back in surprise. When Simmons moves away, hurriedly checking the machines, Grant sees Skye. Her eyes are open, but barely, surveying the room.

He knows he should move; should tell Coulson, Fitz and May that she's awake but he's weighed down, as the burden they'd all been carrying since she was shot, is lifted. Simmons had said she would be stable, she would be okay, with the drug in her system, but he hadn't really believed it until this moment.

Minutes might have passed, it might have been hours, but he watches as Simmons relays the details to Skye. He can't hear, but he can see her face fall a little at certain points, sees her look down in – is that disappointment?

She was brave, doesn't she know that?

Everyone else visits her in the med pod while she's still awake and he volunteers to take the night shift while she's sleeping.

"You had us all scared for a minute there." The first words he's said to her in so long and he's relieved that she's not awake to hear them. "I was scared." It's been forever since he's been so scared. She shuffles a little in her sleep, and he leans back in the seat beside her bed. "I'm not sure what I would have done if you hadn't made it. There's still a lot I want to tell you." He pauses, awkwardly rubbing the back of his neck. "But most of all, I think I would have missed your smile. Or the nicknames."

He gives a weak chuckle to himself. It's stupid; but it's good that she's asleep because otherwise he would never be able to say these things to her. "I think I might be in love with you." It's the most straight-forward he's ever been and for a moment he wonders if the words actually came from him. Maybe he just needed to try them out, quickly and painlessly, and he's surprised to find that they make sense. "I wish I was brave enough to tell you when you're not asleep but I guess I'm not very brave."

She opens her eyes then, as if on cue, and he feels like a deer caught in the headlights. Did she hear him? It's not as if she'd feel the same. He'd better-

As if answering his question she wriggles her fingers slightly, closer to his and he reaches out, holding her hand. She coughs a little and her voice is still hoarse but the teasing in it is unmistakable.

"Tell me more great things about me."

* * *

They have two weeks together before it all goes to hell.

She spends most of them recovering in the med pod. Simmons says the drug was miraculous and takes sample after sample of blood for testing. Grant visits her, a kiss to the forehead, and a kiss to the cheek. One day she pulls him down by his t-shirt and kisses him soundly on the lips, which stuns him into a good period of silence.

Fitz is the first to find out about the change to their relationship when he walks in to find them holding hands. They could say it's as innocent as anything, but Fitz is a genius and immediately puts two and two together. They don't bother to correct him – they're not even sure what the change is yet anyway.

With two thumbs up the Scot promises he won't tell anyone, before scurrying from the med pod, probably to tell Simmons.

That's how May and Coulson find out too, although Fitz will insist he didn't tell them and they instead overheard him. May doesn't seem to care too much and even Coulson doesn't seem to be bothered by it.

"Don't let it interfere with missions. Don't break her heart," is all he tells him.

But he looks proud in a way; looks proud of the family he's brought together; looks proud of him and the lesson about caring that he's learned.

The brief moment of happiness ends as The Clairvoyant comes out of the shadows. Somewhere between Thomas Nash taunting him and Coulson about Skye – it ends with a bullet in Nash's chest and Grant on his way to a SHIELD Review Board - and the plane turning on its axis, light turns into dark.

HYDRA rises.


	4. Part IV

**all the shattered ones,**

**written by wickedsong.**

**Note: This was kind of tricky to write. It goes in a different direction from what I had first anticipated and while at first I was a bit 'woah' about where I went, I actually quite enjoyed writing it. It was certainly one of those cases where the story decided to sort of write itself and I was trying to catch up with it. It would have been up earlier but trying to frame the last parts was hard so I hope I've done it okay. It doesn't end in exactly the way I wanted it to but as I was editing I decided I liked it a lot more than I did while writing it. And since I've left you all waiting for so long; here is the conclusion to all the shattered ones (which was meant to be a _oneshot for heaven's sake_).**

* * *

She tells him she's an 0-8-4 as they sit in a janitor's closet, while he's sure he's about to die.

There are about twelve guards outside and he knows he has to take them out if they have any hope of getting from Point A to B and helping the others. The mission at hand is all he's thinking about when she pulls him back to reality with her admission.

Back against the wall, he turns his head to look at her. She's looking straight ahead instead, resolute, and with steel in her eyes.

"What-"

"I just wanted you to know," she says quickly, before he can ask questions; before he can even think of one. "I don't know what it means," she admits quietly. "I haven't told FitzSimmons."

Which means May and Coulson must know.

The light in the closet is dim but he finds her hand and holds on tight, telling her he understands, telling her that it didn't change anything. She squeezes back, as she tells him that she found out during the incident at the Academy. They may not have the time for admissions like this but he doesn't stop her. For all he knows, they could both be dead before the day is over.

"I wasn't completely honest with you either," he says, equally as quiet, when the stunned silence from her confession is broken. "I never told you how Coulson found me. I was in juvie." When he looks over at her, their hands still joined, she gives him a sympathetic look. Maybe she had already figured that out? Or maybe it's just that she understands?

He tells her, aware of the danger bubbling around them but not caring, about a boy who was afraid, who blindly followed someone else's orders to hurt, whose parents didn't care. About a house that almost burned to the ground.

She doesn't let go.

"That's your past," is her reply. "That's not who you are."

_It's who I could have been_, he thinks, and he feels a pang of regret for the Grant Ward that Phil Coulson never found.

He suddenly remembers where they are, what they're doing, what and who they're doing it for, and peers out of the closet door once more. The guards still swarm the corridor, barking orders at one another.

"Give me your ICER," he whispers, holding his hand out as they both slowly stand.

She shakes her head. "You can't take on all those guys by yourself." She pulls him around to face her, when he refuses to do so. "It's _suicide_."

With a small smirk, he replies, "Not if I don't die."

But he knows it's a possibility and he can feel her reluctance as she passes him the ICER. "Lock the door behind-"

He doesn't finish his sentence before she's pulling him down by his vest, kissing the words out of his mouth. She's telling him that he better come back to her; she should already know that he will.

* * *

Victoria Hand asks him to accompany her in taking John Garrett to the Fridge and he complies. It's not just about Coulson or Skye or the team. A part of it is about him too. A small foundation on which his life – in service to SHIELD – was built upon has crumbled. Coulson found him but he wouldn't have if it hadn't been for Garrett.

He doesn't get a chance to say goodbye to the rest of the team, but Coulson assures him they'll be fine. This is a zero-risk mission, he thinks, nothing can go wrong and he'll be back with them in no time anyway.

It's his mantra as the small plane lifts off, and the two guards shove a cuffed Garrett into one of the seats. Grant tries to reconcile the sneering man with the friendly agent who he met on that first day at the Academy. He tries to somehow make sense of the same man being the Clairvoyant – the one who had Coulson tortured, who had Skye shot – and he can't. Maybe that's the point. He's a specialist; he knows how deep covers have to go sometimes.

When he looks back on it maybe he'll think if he had just taken a gun. Maybe he'll think if he had just noticed the small slip of the hand of one of the guards a few seconds earlier. But maybes don't do him any good when the guard on the right hand side of Garrett draws a weapon, stands and shoots the the other guard in one fluid motion, while Garrett smirks in satisfaction. They don't do him any good when the gun is pointed at him and Agent Hand.

He goes to grab it but the other man is a fraction quicker, knocking him unconscious with the butt of the weapon. A shot fires and he sees Victoria Hand fall too, just before his world goes black.

* * *

He wakes up, with a dull pounding in his head. It's not the worst he's ever sustained but it's not helped when he realises he's being held in place by a handcuff. His back hurts too and he realises he's chained to a pipe, up against a wall. He struggles for a moment or two, before realising he has to focus instead.

He tries to look back – to grasp onto any detail from before he was knocked out. He remembers The Hub (Victoria Hand was the Clairvoyant? That doesn't sound right), Skye told him she was an 0-8-4 (it doesn't matter; it doesn't change _anything _he told her). He vaguely recalls Coulson looking disappointed – betrayed even because John Garrett-

(John Garrett is the Clairvoyant, Victoria Hand is dead and he's-)

"You're finally awake."

Speak of the devil and he's bound to appear.

"Oh hell, I'm not going to kill you, kid," Garrett says as he emerges from the shadows of the small room, arms folded, flashing a toothy grin. He shrugs. "At least not _yet_."

When Grant remains quiet, Garrett kneels down so he's at his level. "You're useful, you see. You're Phil's boy, he trusts you." Garrett retrieves something from his jacket; the burner phone that Coulson gave Hand before they left. "It's also a little personal." He throws the phone at Grant's feet while standing up.

Grant can already guess what Garrett wants him to do, as he looks down at the phone. "I'll tell them. I'll tell them everything."

Garrett rolls his eyes and shakes his head. "This is Phil's problem, you know? He teaches you to trust the system, to be noble and honourable, to always try to do the _right_ thing, in an organisation full of liars. He never taught you desperation, boy. He never taught you how to _survive_."

Nevertheless, Garrett takes the phone from the ground, swiftly kicking Grant in the ribs in the process for good measure. He doesn't give him the satisfaction of grunting in pain or keeling over, just stares him down until he leaves.

* * *

He hears rumblings of one of Garrett's plans in the intervening hours but it's too quiet and he can only grab snippets of information. Garrett can be loud when he wants to be though; telling his stories, telling someone called 'Flowers' to get back to work.

He finds out, later, that they'd taken control of the Fridge, and Garrett returns, looking smug and successful, carrying something, in gloved hands. In the light, Grant recognises it as the Berserker Staff. He stares at the Asgardian relic, and manages to hide the repulsion he feels at the sight of it.

Garrett grins at him, though, obviously picking up on his discomfort. "I read some reports that said you were particularly susceptible to this kind of magic." He shrugs. "You seem to be quite vulnerable to most kinds of Asgardian magic, don't you Agent Ward?"

Grant tries to block the memory of Lorelai from his mind.

Garrett steps down on his wrist without warning. He struggles but the older man overpowers him and forces the staff into his hands.

He's not by a well anymore, it's not burning and he thinks that that's some sort of relief. Until he realises what it's morphed into. He's in a cellar instead, and she's dying. There's blood everywhere and she's dead and he failed and then the well comes back into focus and they're side by side and he hates it. He _hates_ his brother and John Garrett but not as much as he hates himself.

Garrett lifts the staff from him, and, as if on cue, there's a ringing. Grant tries to run through what he just saw and he can barely register Garrett waving the burner phone in front of him. "If you continue trying to be brave, you're only going to end up weak."

Grant refuses to take the bait, refuses to answer the phone, and refuses to put the team in danger. "You want to kill me?" he says, trying to steady his voice against the weight of the memories, "Then kill me."

Garrett presses a button on the burner phone, and then places it on the ground. For a split second, Grant contemplates picking it up, but the moment is gone when Garrett crushes it under his foot.

The older man turns to leave. "They probably thought you were dead already." He shrugs. "Now they definitely do."

* * *

He's sure no help is coming by the end of the first week. Garrett brings in the staff, accompanied by a woman in a flower dress who he recognises. Raina. The woman they found torturing Coulson all those months ago. She places electrodes on him, carrying a tablet computer, while Garrett holds him back if he resists.

He's grown weak, tormented by the memories that the staff keeps placing on him. They don't go away, even when he closes his eyes. There's no relief from it and it grows; anger and hate swirling together for the man in front of him.

For everything he is. Like Garrett is trying to mine it, wants to use him for it, when all it does is drain him.

"He was meant to be one of mine, you know?" Garrett tells Raina, who looks on with an expression of curiosity, as she glances down at the tablet in her hands. "I got word from an old friend of mine about this cadet, with hand-eye coordination that was off the charts." Garrett pauses and then steps on his wrist. Grant has grown weary of struggling. "He was a troublemaker, according to his parents. A problem. A kid like that – the things he did – with those talents. He could have been my finest soldier."

"But Agent Coulson-"

"_Phil_ stuck his nose where it didn't belong," Garrett cuts across her. "Now, watch this."

Grant feels, rather than sees, the staff being dropped into his hands. He keeps his eyes closed, as if that will stop the nightmares. He wonders briefly if that just makes them worse.

"What a phenomenon," breathes Raina, as the tablet she's carrying beeps. "The biological ramifications of this are-"

Grant blocks out the rest of the conversation, trying to focus on steadying his heartbeat, his breathing. But all he really wants to do is scream and he ignores the way Garrett chuckles when he howls from the pain of it all. Maybe this is when he'll finally break?

"It could kill him?" he hears Raina ask, in a light way, as if she's simply curious and his life doesn't hang in the balance.

He can't die.

"I don't know," grunts Garrett. "But imagine more guys with this kind of power-"

He doesn't need to imagine. He knows. He fought them.

Arms guided him back then; a voice calling his name.

He promised her he'd make it back.

Garrett doesn't see the swing of the staff coming, as Grant's hand breaks free of the cuff and knocks him back.

He's not dead; that much is clear, in the rise and fall of his chest. Raina backs away; the machine in her hand beeping wildly. For a brief moment he considers finishing Garrett off here and now, but there's a commotion and he ends up having to take out the other HYDRA agents who come up against him.

He doesn't begin to feel drained from the staff until he's out of the compound, in the streets where the bright sunlight threatens to blind him.

People recoil from him and he runs; runs until he finds a nearby alleyway. Letting the staff fall from his hand he feels the relief he's been craving, as he falls to his knees. He doesn't know what comes next but he lets go anyway, closing his eyes, and drifting away.

* * *

Someone's poking and prodding him when he comes to. He groans – it reminds him of Simmons and the multiple times she'd tend to his wounds on the BUS. When the prodding doesn't stop he grunts, as if that will shoo whoever it is away.

When he opens his eyes he almost wishes he'd kept them closed.

John Garrett stares at him, a glint of madness in his eyes. Grant looks to his side and finds Raina is the one examining him. He tries to shake her off but he's restrained. When he looks back at Garrett he knows the man isn't going to make the mistake of giving him the Berserker Staff again.

He struggles against the bonds but eventually gives up. "Why?" he asks. Garrett could pull a gun on him at any time. A bullet in his head and it would all be done.

Garrett's eyes continue to hold that glint of madness, and Grant tries not to avert his gaze, no matter how uncomfortable it makes him feel.

"Because I see your value now," replies Garrett, slowly, carefully. He closes his eyes. "I see it all now; the world, the universe, and what it _can_ be." They snap open, and then look over at Raina. "All we need now is the girl." Before Grant can reply; because _of course_ he knows what Garrett means, he feels something being jabbed into his arm. He feels sleepy.

Raina leaves his side.

His vision blurs and all he can think is _Skye, Skye, Skye._

"Oh it's okay, Agent Ward," Garrett says, placing a hand on his forehead, and looking up. As if taking in the moment. "You'll see her soon enough."

* * *

He's been gagged and bound; forced to stand with Garrett, and his own super soldier – Mike Peterson a.k.a. Deathlok. A man as much of a prisoner as he is. Garrett's waiting – waiting for Coulson and the team and Grant thinks if they're smart they'll stay well away.

But he knows if they're smarter they'll come.

Hopefully they have a plan.

A phone rings and Garrett answers, giving a lecherous grin when he realises it's Skye on the other end. He taunts her, but from what Grant hears she holds her own and he feels a surge of pride in his chest.

"And about Agent Ward," he adds, and Grant almost shakes his head. _No, don't. Don't you dare. _Garrett gives him a sidelong look. "He was brave until the very end."

* * *

He's sure the actual end is coming when he stands between John Garrett and Skye. She's holding her gun up at the man who holds him in place – his new found madness also seemed to have come with new strength. May and Coulson flank her and he knows this wasn't part of their plan at all.

He tries to tell them to get out of here; that he can handle it, but the words don't seem to form and he finds them even harder to come by when Garrett throws him to the floor roughly. He feels the acute pain of the ribs that he's now sure are broken.

"What have you done to him, John?" Coulson demands. Skye rushes forward, ignoring May's attempt to stop her. She kneels beside him; taking the gag from his mouth and helping him stand. He wants to give in to it but she won't let him – like so many times before.

"I taught him the right lessons, Phil," Garrett replies, and he takes a few steps forward.

Grant remembers the conversations he and Raina had been having – about monsters, and their children. About who you were against who you became. How no one could run from their nature forever.

Skye cuts where his wrists are tied together, and he smiles at her. The first reason he's had to smile in what's seemed like forever.

"When I say run, you run," he whispers to her, ragged and laboured. Garrett is distracted for now; rambling to Coulson. "You had a reason for coming here," he manages. "Do it."

She shakes her head slightly, telling him - without words - that he's being a dumbass, but he pulls away from her anyway, trying to formulate some sort of plan. He's too weak and Garrett could kill him in an instant.

If she's safe, it doesn't matter. He would give his life for that.

The gleam of the staff catches him from across the room. May, keeping an eye on Coulson, catches his eye and follows his gaze. She nods to him and he nods back.

Garrett continues rambling, about the bigger picture, about how he and Coulson share the same visions of evolution. How they're _blood brothers_ and should share the same goals.

On the count of three, Coulson tells him to go to hell, May throws him the staff and Grant shouts at them to run.

He has one last look of May pulling Skye away, while Garrett smirks in twisted delight. Coulson shouts his name, as Grant grasps the staff in hand. He doesn't suppress it this time; he lets himself feel it; as if _this_ is his nature. Garrett thinks he doesn't know anything about desperation.

The truth is he learned that lesson a long time ago.

"Well, well, boy, it looks like you have a death wish."

* * *

He doesn't remember a lot of it. He recalls fending Garrett and his soldiers off for as long as he could – before the staff was knocked out of his hand and the power slipped away from him. Garrett had loomed over him then and _this was the end, this was the end-_

A voice breaks through the haze of his mind – the sense of falling as his head sorts through the past and the present.

"I didn't realise how hard this was," the voice admits, and it's Skye. He can feel her holding his hand and stroking his hair and of course it's _Skye_. "You know Simmons. She isn't saying you _won't_ wake up but-"

Why won't he wake up?

"But she isn't saying you will either. I have to believe you will though," she continues, with a voice that's trembling just slightly. "I thought I lost you before and I don't want to again. I _won't_."

_I was just trying to protect you._

"I love you."

The haze continues but the words pull on something inside him – something urgent, a part of him that knows he has to wake up now. When he does it's in a white room; on a comfortable bed. He blinks a few times, breathing heavily. Memories flash in front of his eyes, but he turns his head, and there she is and it's like they don't matter anymore.

Like they haven't for a very long time.

"Grant?" she asks, as if not daring to believe it.

He nods. "Yeah." His throat hurts.

But the pain doesn't matter when she throws her arms around him and he feels safe and home and loved. Whatever's happened in the time he's been gone doesn't matter now.

"Don't you ever do that again," she tells him. The way her voice shakes makes him feel guilty and so he holds her a little tighter against him as if to promise her he won't.

Simmons later tells him that he had been hurt badly by Garrett but Director Fury had shown up – not dead - and he, Coulson and Mike Peterson had taken him out. Fitz and Trip show up as well – adding parts of the story that Simmons doesn't remember as they go along.

Coulson gives him a tight handshake, looking relieved to see him awake and breathing. He finds out that Coulson isn't just an agent anymore – but the Director of SHIELD itself – charged with rebuilding it from HYDRA's ashes. If there's anyone who can build SHIELD to what it used to be it's the man who gave his life to it.

"I'm just glad you can be a part of that, Grant."

He catches May smile from behind them and sends her a look of gratitude. She accepts it with a graceful nod.

Skye later sneaks in to see him, deciding to curl up beside him on the bed. When Simmons walks in on them she tuts, and mutters something about how he has to rest. But she gives a small smile anyway.

"I missed Doctor Simmons," Skye teases cheerfully.

Later, when they're alone, she'll admit that she never really thought he was dead. She traces circles on his chest and he grasps her hand in his own.

"I promised I'd come back, didn't I?" he says quietly, and she gives a small smile, nodding. He never actually did say those words, but she knew; she must have known.

She falls asleep on top of his chest and the sound of her breathing calms him in a way he wasn't sure was possible. He wraps his arms around her thinking of promises of a brighter tomorrow; free of nightmares and demons.

_Please let it be this room_, he thinks as he falls asleep, _please let it be this room when I wake up._

He's relieved to find, when he wakes to find her still beside him, that it is.


End file.
